Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own 'Sherlock'. All rights reserved for the original Author Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and for BBC bringing us their own incarnation of our characters we write about from 'Sherlock' BBC Original.

(Disclaimer applies as well to all future chapters.)

Warnings: Story takes place after Series II of 'Sherlock' BBC Original, so it will includes spoilers. It is rated M for sexual content (M/M) in later chapters, so if that's not your thing, you may want to read elsewhere.

Authors Note: This is my first ever attempt at a fanfic. I Just couldn't help myself. Un Beta'd and Un'Britpicked. Reviews are welcomed! Please bear with me and last but least least enjoy!

John woke up startled by the usual playings of his flatmates violin in the other room. It was a beautiful summer night. John could feel the breeze coming in from the window. This wasn't easy for him, Sherlock had just gotten back not more than a week ago. Yet neither of them said more than a couple of words to each other. Sherlock kept quiet out of guilt and John didn't say much out of anger, betrayal and uncertainty. It had been three years since Sherlock had died or at least John thought that he had died. Blimey, he had seen him jump off the roof with his own bloody eyes.

"That Arsehole made me believe he was dead!" John thought to himself. Even so, John knew the pain Sherlock felt through each heartbroken note that filled the quiet night air. He sat up taking hold of his alarm clock with one hand to look at the time that it displayed all whilst running his fingers through his sandy blond hair.

"Enough was enough!" John thought as he got up out of bed, he looked for his robe but couldn't find it. Irritated, he abandoned the search for the robe and stormed out his room. He walked with his head down to the kitchen to set a kettle of water for some tea.

"You're still upset?"Sherlock asked John as he brought his playing to an end, he fussed the bow in between his fingers waiting for Johns response, "I'm sorry, John, but I couldn't let you get hurt." He thought quietly.

"Are you BLOODY SERIOUS? You're seriously going to ask me that question?" John shouted, slamming his favorite teacup on the counter making it shatter almost instantly.

Sherlock winced at the sight of blood streaming down his friend's hand, but knew all too well he should stay in place.

Muttering curse words under his breath John threw the rest of the tea and kettle in sink. The sound of the kettle hitting the metal echoed in their quiet flat.

Leaning against the counter John spoke softly "How could you . . Why. .didn't . .you. . know." he stammered against his own tongue. Each word took endless agonizing effort, not knowing how long he could fight back his tears. " . . .how it would affect me. . I almost . . I almost didn't make it, Sherlock. . .I. ." giving into his pain, John leaned forward into the sink. Muffled sobs poured out as he covered his mouth with his unwounded hand.

Frozen, Sherlock stood quietly with one bow in one hand and his violin in the other. He stood watching his best friend cry over him. Why. . why John. Why do you shed tears that I do not deserve, Your tears . . for me. It was torture watching John cry, nonetheless, Sherlock didn't look away. He wanted to comfort John, to hold him, to whisper sweet beautiful nothings in his ear. To make those painful memories go away. Make this go away. The scene that was playing right in front of him. He carefully laid his violin and bow on the chair and grabbed some bandages that John always left out. Sherlock stepped quietly to his best friends' right side.

"John. ., " he spoke with the most exquisite softness grabbing John right hand, "I would never want anything happen to you. To my John, my dear John." He continued to speak softly while gently wrapping John's hand.

John's sobbing became almost inaudible when Sherlock spoke. As much as he was angry, Sherlock's voice soothed him. Sherlock's touch made him feel safe. A sigh of relief left his body, "good, I hadn't made physical contact. I was almost thinking I was going mad." John thought to himself. He looked up and was caught by Sherlock's eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes that saw everything.

"I had too John and I did think. I just didn't think it would affect you this much. I mean John you're at least 20 pounds lighter. Still fit of course apparently from not sleeping? It seems that your insomnia has come back and with all that extra time you decide you want to keep fit? No keep busy. Especially when you say that your psychosomatic limp came back . Not only that but your anger has worsened." He stated lifting his now bandaged hand, "and no John you're not going mad I am real. . " Sherlock brought John's hand to his chest against his heart, "I am real and I swear I am not goin-"

"Sherlock." John spoke quietly cutting him off.

"Yes?" Sherlock spoke still holding John's hand gently close to him.

"I was never upset at the fact you lied," John looked away from Sherlock's stare and back down at the sink. "Hmm. . " was the response John got to his statement. He knew it was Sherlock's way of letting him know he was listening. So he continued, "I was upset at the fact you waited three bloody years to come back."

"John. . " Sherlock spoke in a stern voice. He opened his voice to continue but John turned around quickly to let him know he wasn't finished yet. So he closed his mouth and nodded.

"Nothing. Nothing Sherlock. Nothing even a message. No! Don't give me that 'I had important business' look because what could be more important?" John's eyes began to get watery again.

Sherlock opened his mouth but waited a few seconds to see if John was going to cut him off again. Once he saw that he was 'allowed' to speak he continued. "Your life."

"Excuse me?"

"Your life John. Your life was, no is more important." Sherlock leaned forward feeling the heat radiate from John. He felt his pulse in John's right hand race against his own, "My important business was making sure your life was safe."

John was breathing heavily. He was nervous, this was the first time he was standing so close to Sherlock. John was intoxicated with his smell. He knew he could stand here all night, weeks even. Not sleeping, eating, moving. Just standing here. Taking Sherlock in. "but three years?" he spoke in almost a whisper, only Sherlock could hear him, "they were hell without you" John buried himself flatmates arms.

"For you and me: both." Sherlock grinned as he wrapped his arms around John.

Alright for a first chapter right? I wanted to go on, to make Sherlock wait for that Embrace, but John didn't let me. Gosh. Just like any other writer. I don't write the stories. They write them selves. I hope you enjoyed! remember Reviews welcome :)

-Ron

Re-edited. Thanks to Kr-NL for helping me. You should go read her fanfic "Unravelling Sherlock" best fic by far. Follows and reviews are welcome :)

-Ron